Phantom of the Bolshoi
by NikuSweets
Summary: <html><head></head>The Bolshoi Opery is taken by storm with their new divo, Raivis. No one seems to bother to question how his singing became so great, but his childhood admirer Ludwig suspects the 'Bolshoi Ghost' is more than a rumor.</html>
1. Prologue

March 1928, Moscow

He didn't know how he was able to find it. The city had changed so much, its old colorful buildings clashing with new, grey ones. The familiar lavish imperial soldiers replaced with stern men in dark uniforms. The people were different as well; it was something in their attitude, even their walk. This was a new Moscow, a new Russia, and the stark red flags dangling from nearly every building stated so.

He didn't look at the street signs or a view a map or ask for directions. In his chest he felt the strangest force pulling, as if God himself was hauling him to a mysterious destination… no, it wasn't mysterious or unknown. Ludwig von Beilschmidt knew this opera house well, too well for his liking. The memories accompanying it were cruel, and they were aggressive in making sure he didn't forget. He wanted to terribly, for forty years he's tried. His new wife, their family, the ruin of his father's legacy, the Great War, yes – they were distractions. At the end of the day, when he had just a moment's calm, those memories taunted every one of his senses…

The songs that played to a childishly cruel melody, the taste of his own blood dripping from his mouth. The cold hands of that special boy (who for once, was not shaking) touching his own, for the last time. The stark, unnatural eyes that could reflect nothing less than undying love to one person, then burning hatred to another.

Ludwig was the receiver of those ghostly eyes, the target of their bitterness. He was then, and in his nightmares, he still is. That is why he walks with a purposeful air to that beautiful theatre, the same one that, before his eyes, is being destroyed. Some higher power is compelling him, perhaps it's truly God, and perhaps it's his own belated insanity slowly taking hold of his aging mind. The dirty workers pound and repair with speed. They must've saved _something_ from the theatre. Did they even know of the chambers, the passages?

He walked up to a young boy, hardly older than his grandson. The boy was toiling way and was anxious about being interrupted, but the towering old man before him was rather intimidating. "What is it, sir?"

"Is this it, then? They're just taking it down?"

"No, sir! We're rebuilding it for our comrades to enjoy."

"Have they removed or replaced anything? The furniture?"

"Was empty when I looked inside. But they'll get new stuff soon." The boy scurried off, answering the call of a nearby worker. Ludwig watched him disappear into the theatre, and he could still see it whole in his mind, even if it was going to pieces now.

He stepped closer, approaching a man he assumed to be the foreman. "Excuse me, sir. Has your crew salvaged anything from the dungeons- ah." Ludwig caught himself, but it was too late now.

Naturally, the man gave him a funny look. "Dungeons? Y'mean the basements? Yeah, the theatre had some deep ones. All flooded, though. Seems like they've been like that for years."

It wasn't the answer Ludwig wanted, so he repeated his question. "Despite that, were you able to retrieve anything?"

"What would be in a theatre's basement, besides props and costumes?" The man frowned with impatience. "No sir, nothing- well, wait. Slipped my mind. Alexi found something a few months ago. Alexi!"

Another boy ran up, wide-eyed. "Huh?"

"That old box you found, the heavy wooden one. Where'd you put it? You didn't sell it, did you?"

"No! I put it in one of the rooms in the theatre."

"Hmph, a safe place for it, with all this construction. Go fetch it, now."

Ludwig hardly saw the boy come and go, nor did he hear the man continuing to speak. A wooden box, found deep in those winding dungeons, small enough for a child to carry but heavy. Perhaps, the same box that he heard that night? Perhaps. Ludwig would recognize the song. It had already played endless times, lightly lining his nightmares with its simple tune.

He wanted the boy to return empty-handed. He wanted to pretend to be disappointed, but to think deep down, _Good. It's all gone, then. All of its gone. _And by some miracle, he wanted all of the nightmares to go away, and for once, he could return to his family with an unclouded mind.

Fate never worked in his favor. The boy came back, holding the water-damaged but still perfectly recognizable box. It was disgusting how instantly he remembered it, before it even completely came into his sight.

"Do you work for the museums or something?" The man was just now suspicious, but the boy handed Ludwig the music box anyway.

"_Track down this murderer, he must be found-"_

"No. I… I worked here." An obvious lie. Strange looks were given, but the man and boy left him alone for their work. Ludwig sat down at the pearly white steps, studying it intently. Water-damaged, split wood, yes… The years hadn't been good to anyone. The gold paint of the sunflower had long washed away from the top, but the little diamonds around it were surprisingly intact. He opened it, and the moment he did, he flinched.

"_And in this labyrinth, where night is blind-"_

It was playing perfectly, just like that night. The melody was stifled by the construction nearby, but he heard it clearly in his memories. It was loud and taunting, sweet and deceiving.

"_Those pleading eyes that both threaten and adore-"_

He breathed sharply. He didn't know he was holding his breath. He looked down at the box, and the porcelain ballerina with the broken hands had ceased her twirling when the music stopped. How long had it been over?

The rusted hinges creaked as the music box closed. He kept to the steps of the Bolshoi, remembering, small things that were previously forgotten. Yes, there had been good times- they were just overlapped by the horrible.

Somehow he recalled when he first came, personally invited, by the director of the theatre himself. He didn't care for music or the arts, but his family did, and they'd want a report on the quality of the Bolshoi Opery Troupe. Ludwig made the trip to Moscow, travelling by himself for the first time. It was a far cry from his native Germany, and he remembered looking at the theatre with apprehension, despite its beauty and the bustle all about it.

_Long ago, it seems so long ago_

_How surreal and paralyzing it was_

_He may not have remembered me_

_But I remember them_

* * *

><p>YES. This story is going to be EXACTLY what it sounds like.<p>

Lol on the Hetalia kink meme, I stumbled across this veeeery old one about anon wanting Phantom of the Opera!RussLat. Anon asked for no genderbends (sob on my part) and anon had assigned all of the nations what characters they were going to play. I know anon had just a small oneshot in mind, but I really wanted to make this a series! Some of the characters will be a challenge to write (like Germany crushing on Latvia), but that's all part of the fun~ And the updating will be much swifter since, hey, the whole plot is already laid out.

THEREFORE- none of the Phantom melodies/storyline/characters belong to me, obviously. I edited some of the lyrics to make sense, too. This won't be a completely songfic, since that's just annoying, but I'll throw in lyrics.

So! Enjoy this new fic~. And Yus, of course it's going to be RussLat D: RAOUL DESERVES NOTHING


	2. OvertureHannibal

July 1888, Moscow

Outwardly, the Bolshoi Theatre stood as perfectly as it had when it was constructed 63 years ago – brand new, when Andrei Mikhailov's amazing plans came to life to construct it. It was the pride of the cultured aristocrats; if it ever fell into the slightest disrepair, a little chipped step or some fading paint, it was briskly fixed. In a similar manner, the opera and ballet and singing and orchestra troupes were well-funded and cared for by the people's taxes.

But, admittedly, the Bolshoi Opery had seen better days with fewer headaches and critics. The opera genre was losing luster, and it was becoming difficult for director Eduard von Bock to solicit funds. Casting an American as his lead divo solved the problem, for a small time – his _unique _voice was a bit of a novelty, even more so when he (attempted to) sing in Russian. But that novelty began to wear off, and the critics wanted a new lead, anyone. Eduard heartily agreed, but like hell he'd be around to pick one.

The _new _directors would decide on it – two somewhat experienced men who Eduard pitied, just a little. Well, not that much.

He led them to his troupe's portion of the Bolshoi, occasionally giving directions or stopping to introduce an important patron. Eduard had the feeling they weren't listening.

"_No, _you stupid frog, we're not putting up gold statues! This isn't even our theatre!"

"They wouldn't be _real _gold, if money is the issue- "

"Your idea of fine interior decorating is the issue! Naked, gold women? In such a public place? I refuse outright!"

"I'd think you'd look forward to it, little caterpillar, considering you rarely get any-"

"Oh, shut up!"

"E-excuse me gentlemen," Eduard had to come between them; he was predicting Sir Kirkland was going for Monsieur Bonnefoy's neck. "The main stage is here. I'll be introducing you to our main cast and dancers." _So feel free to kill each other once I'm off the premises and not liable._

_"This trophy from our saviors, from our saviors!_

_From the enslaving force- of, uh, Rome!"_

Sir Kirkland was going to agree, but he and Monsieur Bonnefoy nearly jumped from their polished shoes. "What in the queen's name was that horrible screeching?"

_Oh, just our divo, whose lead nearly every opera for the past __**five **__months… _Eduard smothered a groan and suppressed his headache as best as he could. "W-well then…" _Force a smile, damn it, force it- _"Shall we, ah, find out?"

_"With feasting and dancing and song, tonight in celebration!_

_We greet the victorious thong- er, throng-_

_Returned to bring salvation!"_

Rapping at his stand with ferocity, the conductor was fuming. "I've said it a million times, you American buffoon! You don't sing that stanza!"

"I wanna sing all of it! And what's a 'stanza'?"

"I've explained _that _a million times as well-"

"Gentlemen, excuse me, please," Eduard led the new directors onto the stage, where some sort of rehearsal was taking place. The conductor gripped his stand in anger. "Mister Von Bock, I am _trying _to go over the music."

"Just a moment, Mister Edelstein-" Eduard turned to a young man dressed in somber black. "Ah, Mister Lorinaitis. Everyone, may I have your attention? Thank you. Well, I am sure plenty has been said of my retirement, and I must unfortunately say that it is all true-"

"Ah! I knew it! My bro owes me money!" The American blurted.

"-Um, yes. I'll be leaving within the hour, but I have already long decided on the two very suitable men to take my place. Everyone, please welcome Sir Kirkland and Monsieur Bonnefoy."

Polite clapping went around the room; the divo's was arguably the loudest. Bonnefoy spoke above it, "And it is an _honor _to work in such a beautiful theatre with such beautiful people~ It sparks many a lush and warm memories of mine when I was in a Paris opera house; memories specifically concerning the lovely maid-"

"Sod off, would you?" Kirkland growled. "That's hardly appropriate, there are young women here."

"Oh, I will see to the lovely little things eventually-"

Eduard coughed a little too loudly. "A-and it's my pleasure to introduce our new patron, Ludwig von Beilschmidt, who has been graciously charitable, despite being so far from home."

The members of the Bolshoi Opery – including the new directors- looked about curiously, wondering if this von-whoever had wandered in without their notice. He walked in just as Eduard finished and it was impossible to miss him. He was towering and clearly well-built, despite his gloomy clothes trying to hide it. The well-tailored clothes, and truly, his whole appearance, were in perfect order. Not a speck of dust or a stray piece of hair. True to his kept look, he spoke evenly. "And my deep thanks to the Bolshoi Opery, for providing such entertainment to ease my being so far."

Another round of subdued clapping, but this time accompanied by the giggles of the young ballerinas. Mister Lorinaitis quickly tsk'd them as Eduard continued, bringing the directors and Ludwig to his divo. "Gentlemen, this is Alfred Jones, our lead divo for the past five months."

Ludwig nodded his head respectfully but Kirkland and Bonnefoy hardly got a word out. Alfred wiggled excitedly, "Hey, does this mean I can do all the junk Eduard said I couldn't?"

"Behave yourself, won't you?" Eduard sighed. "There will be _no_ five-hour opera about Lady Liberty crushing 'threats to justice'."

"It's an awesome idea! Right, new director guys?" Alfred appeared behind Kirkland and Bonnefoy, easily pulling them into pseudo-headlocks. Kirkland began fierce chain of swearing and Bonnefoy lamented his wrinkled Milan-imported scarf. Eduard's normal headache suppression techniques were not working, so he figured it was time to go. "Toris, please make sure they burn down the theatre _after _I sign over my troupe."

"Yes sir," Mister Lorinaitis answered with some humor in his voice. Eduard wasn't too worried; Toris always had a way with handling the more difficult members of the troupe. "Alfred, please let go of our directors. Let's continue our rehearsal."

"_Yes. _Let's continue." Conductor Edelstein was hardly sitting through all of this talk and he was wielding his baton like a weapon. "Now, from the last few lines of our previous song, and from there to the ballet number." He began without a warning, and the ballet dancers scurried to get in place while Alfred attempted to control himself. Kirkland and Bonnefoy slipped out of the way towards Mister Lorinaitis.

Kirkland, despite not having much viewing experience of ballet performances, was sure the fluid and in-sync movements of the dancers were a good sign. They pulled off difficult and technical moves with grace and ease. "You train them, just yourself?" He asked.

"Yes, ballet is a staple in many of our operas, and the Bolshoi in general. We take pride in each of our dancers."

Bonnefoy chuckled. "Yes, I can see why~ They're all lovely ladies… Oh, are those boys?"

Toris smiled, albeit nervously. "Yes, Peter Oxenstierna and Raivis Galante. Peter is studying abroad and he has a great enthusiasm in learning. Raivis has lived here for many years, and his memorization of each routine is pleasantly surprising."

"Good to hear, capital, even. Oh, wipe off that insufferable look, Frog. Keep your perversions to yourself!"

"You shouldn't have a problem, as it's not directed at _you_… unless you want it to be~?"

Toris quickly spoke up, "Um, to celebrate your arrival, and Mister von Beilschmidt's generosity, we planned to host a large gala tonight. Pardon me, Mister Edelstein-"

The music stopped abruptly and Toris felt some embarrassment. Edelstein glowered, "_What?_"

"Please, could we switch to the 'Think of Me' piece, the one we planned for tonight?" He gently waved the dancers from the floor. Alfred lumbered up in excitement. "Ooh! Ooh! That's the one I sing, yeah?"

"_Yes. _Now please take your places." The conductor flipped through his multiple scores and settled upon one. Edelstein turned to Alfred and sternly said, while poising his baton, "Alfred, begin… now."

* * *

><p>Chapters are short :c It bothers me!<p>

Oh, and Austria's only pissy cause his wife runs in the theatre with a gun and drags him out if he's late for dinner. Cheese fondue isn't yummy cold.


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